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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517463">Brothers &amp; Bullets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways'>Youremyalways</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Big Brother Dean, Gen, Hospital, Hurt!Sam, Season 1, comfort!Dean, gunshot wound, near death fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:48:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517463</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets shot on a witch hunt. It gets a lot worse before it gets better.</p><p>Sam is hurt, Dean is awesome.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don’t have much to say other than this is what quarantine has done to me lol. </p><p>There are fairly graphic descriptions of pain/wounds so if that freaks you out maybe skip. </p><p>The chapters aren’t really at specific breaking points, I just thought it was a bit too long for one chapter. </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They had her in a good position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was right outside with the car, ready to distract any suspectful onlookers and aid them in making a quick exit. John and Sam were on either side of the witch, had her backed into a corner. It was looking good. Plain and simple. Cookie-cutter hunt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The issue was that they only had enough witch killing bullets to fill two gun barrels. John made the choice to be the forgoer and both boys agreed so long as he stayed with one of them consistently. But… the witch had ripped the gun from Sam’s hands and thrown it across the room ten minutes ago. </span>
</p><p>Still, they figured that it would be easy enough to corner the witch and wait for Dean. She was unarmed and John had already placed an antimagic cuff around her wrist. Dean would come eventually to see what was taking so long. It was just a waiting game. Again, plain and simple. Cookie-cutter hunt. </p><p>
  <span>But of course it wasn’t that simple, and they weren’t that lucky. The very gun that Sam had torn from him a while ago just had to have landed in the very corner they backed the witch into. Because why on earth would anything ever work out in their favor? She reached for it before either he or his father could move. John shot at her with his normal silver bullets but all they did was make the witch hiss. They basically rolled off of her shoulders. Sam and John both started running forward to disarm her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean!” Sam shouted at the top of his lungs as quickly as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, even quicker, the witch had her gun pointed at John and the thundering sound of a bullet ripping through the barrel filled the air. His dad was going to get shot. His dad was </span>
  <em>
    <span>getting </span>
  </em>
  <span>shot. He could die. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam jumped in the line of fire before he could even think. All he knew was he had to stop that bullet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stupid child!” The witch barked at the same time John yelled his name, “Sam!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People often say that you can’t really tell when you get shot. That it feels more like a punch, or a simple, dull pressure. But Sam’s been shot enough times to know exactly what a bullet feels like piercing his flesh. It hits hard, like a marble smacking the skin, and then it burns. Heat spreads from the point of impact and for a moment it feels like fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one was different. It burned more than usual. But that could be a result of many different factors, including but not limited to where the bullet hit him, what kind of bullet it was, and how far away the gun was when it fired. </span>
</p><p>He fell within seconds to the ground below him, knees hitting the concrete with a deafening crack. It hit him somewhere in his abdomen, and that was bad. There were way too many important things there. Way too many essential organs. Way too many arteries. </p><p>
  <span>Multiple yells filtered through the air, but his mind was filling with fog. He could barely hear, focusing on the witch that was still in front of them and panicking as she raised the gun once again to his father now that he was out of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bang. Bang. Bang.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Three gunshots, one right after the other, made Sam flinch and cry out. That was, before he saw it was the witch falling to the ground in a crumpled mess. He jerked his head around to the side and saw Dean standing in the doorway with a wild look in his eyes and gun raised high. He watched as Dean swallowed, adam’s apple visibly bobbing, before lowering the gun and tucking it into his belt. He then jogged over to the witch and eyed it for a moment before turning around. The exact moment Dean realized Sam had been shot was completely visible as his eyes went wide and he took off running towards him, face paling rapidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stupid son of a bitch!” Sam heard John half-yell, half-growl as he raced from somewhere behind him and threw his duffle bag on the ground to free both of his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam wanted to argue, scream ‘I just saved your life!’, but he couldn’t form the words. His head connected with the concrete before he even realized he was falling backwards. It stung like a bitch, a splitting pain in his brain. </span>
</p><p>John’s face appeared suddenly above him. His eyes poured over his youngest son’s crumpled body, lingering on his abdomen where the fabric of his flannel was torn barely an inch across and dark red blood was flowing out more and more by the second. John clutched the fabric of his shirt and tore it away so he could see the wound. He was still fuming, screaming at Sam, “What the hell were you thinking?!”</p><p>
  <span>“Will you stop yelling at him!” Sam jerked his head around to see Dean fall to his knees on the opposite side of his body to their father. His older brother seemed to be electrically charged with anger and fear, spine straightening as his accusatory eyes flicked up to his father’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam felt a chill run through him. If Dean gathered the courage to raise his voice against their father, then the situation must be bad. He didn't get defiant like that unless he was either downright sure he was right, or he was terrified. There was nothing to be right about in this scenario, which meant it had to be the latter. So, whatever Sam’s injury presented… it was bad enough to scare the crap out of Dean Winchester. Oh God, he must be freaking dying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t raise your voice at me, boy!” John shouted at Dean without looking up from Sam’s torso. He pressed his fingers against the edges of the wound to get an idea of the length, making Sam clench his teeth together and choke out a groan at the pressure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay, Sammy.” Dean ignored his father in favor of tending to his little brother. He felt his heart throb as Sam groaned in pain and tried to squirm away from John’s touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s bad.” John announced. No sugarcoating there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam wasn’t sure if he was saying it to prove Dean wrong, rationalize the injury to himself, or for some other reason entirely. No matter what the logic, all it did was make everyone feel worse. Dean once again shot daggers at John with his eyes, grinding his teeth together and visibly struggling to hold his objections back. He didn’t understand any better than Sam why their father felt the need to tell them how bad the injury was. Shouldn’t he at least try to be optimistic, or hell, lie his ass off so that Sam could hold on to the belief that he was going to be okay for now? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t their father. It hasn’t been for a long, long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, John Winchester pulled a med kit from his duffle bag, grabbed an alcohol soaked cloth, and pressed it to Sam’s gut. He swiped it over the bullet wound and Sam couldn’t help but gasp, jaw dropping and eyes shooting open wide. Little lines appeared between Dean’s brows as he watched and heard Sam in pain, the concern and horror evident on his face. He smoothed his hand over Sam’s shoulder, trying to keep his focus somewhere else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, God.” Sam couldn’t hold back a moan as waves of pain tore through his body one after the other. He felt his stomach throb, the incision white hot and burning. The blood felt like lava pouring down his sides, and his dad’s fingers were like needles pricking at his skin. The alcohol made his entire abdomen light up, fire hot and stinging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, it…” Sam trailed off as he caught himself. He was about to say ‘hurts’, but at the last second realized it was a poor call. The best hunters didn’t complain about pain. No, they swallowed it down. So, he would too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead he winced and tossed his head back, closing his eyes and biting back the groans.</span>
</p><p>“It what, Sammy?” Dean asked caringly as he slipped a hand under Sam’s neck and leveraged him up so he could look in his eyes.</p><p>
  <span>Sam took the cue and opened his eyes, meeting Dean’s gaze and just barely shaking his head. He prayed that Dean would get the silent message: </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t push it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Dean’s adam's apple bob as he nodded, his lips rising just the tiniest bit on one side of his mouth to resemble the shadow of a smirk. His brother turned his head fully to face Sam, and once he was sure his younger brother was looking, he sent him a quick wink, the message implied: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I got you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>Then John pushed harder on the wound and Sam’s broken gasp completely cut the moment off. He tried to wiggle his body away on instinct, but John’s hands were there in an instant, “Stop moving, Sam. You’re only making it worse for yourself.” </p><p>
  <span>Even though John was right, the way he said it still irked both of the brothers. Dean bit down on his lip so hard Sam thought he was going to draw blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to remove the bullet.” John’s tone managed to sound harsh even at such a low volume, his voice reduced to a whisper. He looked up briefly at both of his sons, shifting his gaze between the two of them, “Dean, you’ve got to hold him down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam jerked upwards just the slightest bit when John’s ice cold fingers landed on the hot skin surrounding the wound once again, his breath coming out uneven and gravelly. He tilted his head up to look down and felt a wave of nausea flood his body at the sight before him. His father’s sleeves were soaked in blood up to the elbows. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His blood.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His dark, leathery hands were stained burgundy and the dark hole in his own abdomen was heavily oozing out blood and there was a bluish-purple bruise forming around it. John lightly pressed his index finger against the center of the incision and immediately, Sam sucked in a sharp breath as the pain spiralled all across his body. Colorful spots contoured the sides of his eyes and he had to bite his lip from the pain of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean!” John yelled again, and Sam realized that Dean hadn’t heard him the first time because he had been so caught up in watching him squirm with pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, right.” Dean snapped back into it with a shake of his head. He maneuvered his body to face Sam and give his dad room, clearing his throat and confirming, “I got him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked like he was in hell, having to hold down his little brother while their dad pulled a bullet out of his gut. Sam sympathized, and he shakily offered his brother a reassuring nod. Dean closed his eyes for a brief moment before slowly reaching across Sam with his right arm. He placed his hand on his cheek reassuringly for a moment before lowering it to his shoulder and pressing down. He did the same with his left hand on the opposite side, all the meanwhile worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and rapidly blinking his eyes, probably trying to keep any tears back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam tried to keep his breaths steady and deep in order to keep himself grounded as he caught a glimpse of a fiery spark out of the corner of his eye. He heard John grunt just barely as he waved a long, metal pair of tweezers through the flame. The way the bright, fluid colors of the fire distorted in the reflection of the slick silver tweezers made him feel oddly at ease. It was a pretty image. Definitely not the worst thing he could see before fading into complete, everlong darkness. But suddenly, his focus was diverted by a shimmer near his father’s brow. He flicked his eyes up to John’s hairline and felt his heart drop to his stomach when he saw what that something just above his temple was. It bubbled up slowly and suddenly started to carve a path down his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam choked down a panicked sob. He had never seen John Winchester sweat in his life. This must be really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squinted his eyes shut to obstruct his own view, but quickly found that doing so only made everything worse. He absolutely despised the anticipation. He was just laying there, waiting for the agony to start, and he had no idea when it was coming. Closing his eyes only made that dread worse, because it completely blinded him to what was coming. At least with his eyes open he could predict what was coming next. Still, the sight of John’s blood soaked sleeves and sweat ridden forehead made his stomach do flips. Dean must’ve been able to tell, because within a few seconds, Sam felt a calloused hand cup his chin and direct his gaze back up to his brother's face. Dean gave him a single solid, affirmative nod and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’m going to start. Dean,” John paused until his eldest son’s full attention was on him before continuing, “The bullet is millimeters away from an artery. If I am even a tiny bit off, I pierce it and he drowns in his own blood.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s hands pressed harder into Sam’s shoulders as his elbows gave out with his father’s words. The increased pressure was painful, but Sam ignored it in favor of panicking over John’s comment. Millimeters away from an artery wasn’t good. No, that was bad. Really bad. Shit… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John’s eyes were laser-focused into Dean’s, desperately trying to convey how serious he was, sweat still pouring from his brow, “He cannot move, do you understand me? If he does, he dies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean choked out an uneven breath before blinking once, twice and then nodding affirmatively. He swallowed anxiously and Sam felt his heart rate triple in speed as Dean raised himself up so he was directly above Sam’s chest and pushed on his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I need verbal confirmation. Do you understand me?!” Their dad pressed, voice rising in volume. John Winchester didn’t leave anything to chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean jerked around and confirmed in a shout, “Yes sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then turned back around to Sam until his face hung directly above his brother’s and his legs were off to the side, giving their father the space he needed to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you’re good. I’ve got you.” Dean whispered, furrowing his brows as he looked down at Sam’s paling face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded, even as John painfully jostled his body around until he had the access and space he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” He vaguely heard John’s whisper and the ruffling of fabric before there was a thick piece of cotton being wedged into his mouth,  “Bite down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam did as instructed. He flinched at the feeling of the cotton filling in the grooves of his teeth, the friction dry and cringey like styrofoam. His heartbeat was like thunder in his ears, pumping loud and echoing through his head. It was the only thing he could hear. He felt the tension rising by the second, the dread starting in his gut and swirling upwards. Any moment now… any moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first touch of cold metal to his skin made Sam twist his neck, unable to stay still as the agony spread like fire through his gut. Moving around gave him something else to focus on. But, just as quickly as he looked away, Dean had a hand on his jaw guiding his face back up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Hey, eyes on me, okay? Eyes on me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded rapidly, tears pouring out the corners of his eyes and sliding sideways down his cheeks onto the pavement. Oh god, the tweezers were getting deeper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam’s entire body went rigid, his arms and legs shaking profusely as the tweezers searched out the bullet in his stomach. The pain throbbed in his guts, deep and warm. It felt like someone had their hand wrapped around his small intestine and was squeezing the organ as hard as they could. He reached out without thinking for something to grab onto, finding Dean’s forearm and digging his nails into the flesh as his abdomen exploded. Dean grunted, but mostly just kept whispering reassurances and asking his dad what the hell was taking so long. John was cursing back at him, face ashen and eyes laser focused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, dammit!” He heard his father bark just as the most intense wave of pain yet rolled through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tweezers were getting deeper, and there were bright white sparks dancing across his vision. He couldn’t help but bite harder into the fabric and dig his nails even deeper into Dean’s forearm. The scream he let out was barely muffled by the cloth in his mouth, one booming yell followed by several, quieter sobbing noises that trickled out around one after the other. He was trying to get a hold of his breathing pattern, but he couldn’t. The breaths escaping his nostrils were loud and uneven, and as hard as he tried to let the air out through his mouth instead, the fabric was blocking any intake of breath. He was growing lightheaded from the short, jagged breaths, and he could taste metal on his tongue. He wasn’t sure if it was because the wound in his abdomen was sending blood rushing up, or if it was because he’d bit too deep into his own gums and sliced his mouth open. Either way, not good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean was saying something above him, but all Sam could hear was static. His vision was blurry, but he could still vaguely see the expression on his brother’s face and it made him feel sick. Dean’s lips were pulled tight together in a thin line and his eyebrows were drawn tight together. There was pain etched into his face, and that was probably Sam’s fault. His nails were deep in his brother’s skin and his hand was wrapped around his wrist and squeezing- and Sam was by no means weak. But more than that, his entire face was ghostly pale and his eyes were blown wider than Sam had ever seen them before. Overall, he looked frightened to the raw nerve. Every time Sam allowed a noise to fall from his mouth, Dean flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, biting down on his lip and whispering incoherently. The thought crossed Sam’s mind that even though he was the one with a bullet wedged in his gut, this situation might actually be worse for Dean.  Sam understood, of course. Watching Dean in pain was the worst torture he could think of, so yeah… he understood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, what the hell?!” Dean’s voice was raw and shaky as he shouted after a few more seconds passed of Sam whining and quivering in pain, tweezers still buried deep in his gut, “Why isn’t it out yet?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John answered, and even he didn’t sound certain anymore, “It’s deeper than I thought. I have to get deeper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s head dropped into his own chest, chin tucked into his neck as the dread rolled through him. Deeper meant more pain. </span>
</p><p>And oh man, was he right.</p><p>
  <span>God, if Sam thought it hurt before… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within a second it went from barely manageable pain to utterly, bone-chilling excruciation. It shot up fast, erasing every thought from his head and paralyzing his body. Apparently he was screaming, but he couldn’t consciously tell. He could just read it in Dean’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like being ripped apart from the inside out- so intense that he was verging on just begging Dean to shoot him. There were searing fiery bursts pulsating around the wound, intensifying with each drag of the tweezers, jarring and brutal. With each passing second, the pain amplified, his body convulsing. Black mists swirled at the edges of his mind, drawing him into sweet oblivion. The worst thing, however, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the worst thing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>was when Sam felt a droplet hit his cheek that didn’t fall from his own eye. He focused his gaze on Dean and felt his heart twist when he confirmed that his older brother was crying. His eyes were glassy and there were tears dripping down his cheeks, gathering at the point of his chin before falling one after the other onto Sam’s upper body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam wanted nothing more than to reassure him, but he was in far too much pain and his mouth was far too filled with cotton. He was going to die with his father covered in his blood and his older brother crying above him. No, no, no… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then like heaven above there was a sharp intake of breath and a searing pain followed by the two most beautiful words he’d ever heard in his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean let out a relieved cry and Sam felt the pressure on his shoulders increase once again as his elbows gave out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hear that, little brother? He’s got it.” He choked out a broken breath and whispered unevenly, blinking away the tears, “He’s got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam was way too low on energy to acknowledge the statement or the feeling that accompanied it. All he could focus on was the sensation of the tweezers dragging the bullet out. It felt like a nail bomb exploding in his gut, so damn deep. If it weren’t for Dean holding him down, Sam would’ve curled up and let himself dissolve away into death by now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean lifted some of the pressure off of Sam’s shoulders and leaned back slightly as the bullet finally escaped Sam’s body. He heard a ring echo through his ears, which he assumed was the bullet dropping into the metal tin his dad kept in his duffle. Sam took that moment to stretch his neck up slightly, running solely on adrenaline and pain. He felt his heart stop as soon as he caught a glimpse of his torso.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was blood fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, did he even have that much blood in him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean must’ve noticed at the same time because just as his gaze shifted, his expression quickly faded from one of relief into one of panic. He swallowed and looked up at their father, whose entire shirt was coated in the drying substance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad…” Dean whispered, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” John answered as his own eyes traced his son’s body, and surprisingly there was no bite to his tone, “dammit, I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what do we do?!” Dean yelled, and the panic in his voice was evident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a pause and then suddenly John’s head was hanging over Sam’s face and pushing Dean out of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His booming voice rocked Sam’s core, “Sam, are you with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tried to say, but the word wouldn’t come out. His speech was reduced to mere faltering gasps as he struggled to make his brain listen to their voices and respond with something appropriate. But he could only lay there, tears prickling in his eyes, pale hands trembling with fear and exhaustion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam!” John barked again, and he wasn’t nearly as mad as he was scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam was getting dizzy. He was forcibly trying to keep his eyes open, dazing out a little each time his eyelids fluttered shut and then jolting back when he became aware. His eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up. His consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space his heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing his ears, alongside fading pleas for help. Feeling in his body was draining away and with one last semblance of effort, he had to warn his family. He dropped his mouth agape and pushed with his tongue so the cloth would tumble out, but ran out of energy to speak just as quickly as the adrenaline came. Instead, he flailed an arm up and hit Dean’s neck (aiming for his shoulder). Dean spun around and leaned down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sa-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Sam would never be able to answer him because just before Dean was able to speak… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blackout.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam wakes up</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A muffled noise filtered through the air that sounded almost like his name, but it was way too staticy and quiet to possibly know for sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam narrowed his brows even as his eyes remained closed, sliding his eyeballs beneath his lids. He was cold, and his body wasn’t curled up like it normally was when he woke up in bed. His limbs felt like cardboard, heavy and unmoveable- like they had been asleep without moving for days. He gently spread his lips just the tiniest bit and sucked in a breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy?” The voice called, becoming clearer by the second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The static was starting to wear off, and Sam’s head was throbbing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam, you with me?” This time Sam could identify the voice as Dean’s, and it made a wave of ease fall over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved his tongue inside his mouth, trying to wet his lips so he could speak. His gums were dry and chalky, like he hadn’t had a drink of water in weeks. Similarly, his eyes felt heavily unused, his eyelids heavy and difficult to flick open. It took several minutes to get his body to cooperate, mouth falling open and sucking in breaths and eyes slipping open. He immediately scrunched his nose up when his eyes landed on the tube connected to his nose, suddenly feeling it itch against his upper lip. The air felt weird, and almost cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There he is.” Dean smiled from Sam’s left and it took all of Sam’s energy to turn his head to face his brother. He winced and squinted his eyes momentarily at the dizziness that hit him when he moved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just when I was about to start drawing on your face” Dean joked, but as he watched Sam’s movements, the smile on his face faltered. The relief was fading into worry right before Sam’s eyes, “How you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam just blinked several times and slid his eyes across the room. Confusion flooded his system as he took in the white walls, white floors, white drapes. Curtains, tables, clocks. Everything white, white, white. The Winchesters didn’t do hospitals. Not unless it was life or death. There was too much difficulty regarding authority, questions, explanations, police, money… especially money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hospital?” Sam asked, his voice raw and gravelly. He just needed some clarification, the bullet wound wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>that bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s lips pinched tight together and he dropped his head down momentarily. For a moment, Sam regretted asking the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Yeah.” He sighed, “You lost a lot of blood. It was either this or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Sam added quietly, and he wasn’t quite sure if he was apologizing for asking the question or for making Dean go through that. Probably both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t acknowledge the apology, so Sam continued speaking, “How long have I been out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked to be thinking for a moment before answering, “Uh, two days? Roughly. We got you to the hospital around nine o’clock Thursday night and it's Saturday now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I slept for a whole two days?” Sam inquired, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like one. You were in surgery for thirteen hours all Thursday night into the morning. After that, they gave you some drugs to make you stay asleep and give your body time to heal. ’Said eventually you’d wake up from the pain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thirteen hours?!” Sam gasped and winced when it made a pang of agony shift in his gut, so he calmed himself down and asked, “What the hell was wrong with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean laughed a little at the phrasing, “You mean with the injury or just in general, cause one of those lists is </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.” Sam pressed, not even batting an eye at his brother’s joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s smile melted off and he swallowed, sombering up, “There was internal bleeding, I guess. Dad was careful to not hit the artery when he pulled the bullet out, but your body was jostled too much afterwards. There was a lot… a lot of blood. They had to give you a transfusion and clear a bunch of stuff out, I don’t know all the medical lingo. Something about your kidney… I don’t know. Important thing is that it’s done now, and that you’re awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded barely and looked at his own lap, trying to process all of those words at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling?” Dean asked again after a moment of silence passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam opened his mouth to answer, but shut it back up just as quick. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>he feeling? He took a moment to process, eyes scanning over his body as if looking at his injury would make it hurt. It felt oddly numb. His ribs hurt more than the place where the bullet entered, actually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I think. Sore.” He cleared his throat before adding, “And thirsty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean raised his eyebrows and got up, walking over to the sink in the corner of the room and filling a small, cardboard cup- which was white, because everything was white- with tap water. He walked back over and held it out to Sam, who looked at it for a moment before moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need me to feed it to you like a baby bird?” Dean joked, waving the cup in the air a little in emphasis, “Swallow it, spit it back up, you know, the whole works.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” Sam rolled his eyes and reached out with a shaky hand, taking the cup from Dean and slowly bringing it to his own lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt going down. His throat was so dry the water was like sandpaper. At the same time, however, the feeling of the liquid coating his mouth was practically euphoric. He took a minute to finish the drink, taking slight breaks between slow, steady sips. When he finished it, he handed the cup back to Dean, who took it willingly before tossing it in a trash can and sitting back down. He leaned his elbows on his knees and watched Sam with a careful gaze, like he was afraid he could break at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s dad?” Sam asked once the realization settled over him that it was only him and Dean in the room, and there was definitely a third Winchester involved in this scenario. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean pushed his lips over to one side of his mouth and breathed in sharply before answering, “He said he was going to make some calls, get gas for the car. Errands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam laughed a little at how untrue all that was. He nodded and pursed his lips in understanding, “So, he’s at a bar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean leaned back and sighed, “That’d be my guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam narrowed his eyes momentarily and then asked, “You didn’t go with him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His older brother looked almost offended, eyebrows jumping up to his hairline and jaw slackening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I didn’t go with him,” He stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “No way in hell was I letting you wake up alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, thank you.” Sam acknowledged quietly before tilting his head and accusing mildly, “Clearly he didn’t have the same concern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean huffed a breath, “Yeah, well, you took the bullet meant for him and almost died because of it. I’d say he’s got a pretty valid excuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, are you blaming me?” Sam asked, both curious and offended by the idea of his brother being angry at him for saving their father’s life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked down and swallowed, clearly trying to keep calm. When he brought his gaze back up he started slowly, “I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying that I get where he’s coming from. I mean, Sammy, you gotta understand… there was a moment where we thought…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sam whispered, “It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not okay,” Dean shook his head, “And you don’t know. You have no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam knit his brows, “Okay, so tell me. Know what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean just looked to the side and closed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.” Sam pushed, growing impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam, your…” He stopped to take a deep breath as he turned to face Sam completely, “Your heart stopped. Twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam felt his blood run could. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once in the ambulance and once in the ER. The bullet, uh… it hit some important stuff, Sammy. It was really touch and go for a while.” Dean was completely somber and that was freaking Sam out, “And there still could be complications. We just don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam cut Dean off with a rushed out objection, “Complications?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a major surgery, Sam. Chances of infection aren’t exactly in your favor.” Dean elaborated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Sam pulled a hand up to run his fingers through his hair, “That’s serious recovery time. Time we don’t have. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Money </span>
  </em>
  <span>we don’t have!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about that,” Dean said probably a little harsher than he wanted to because Sam flinched, “I just mean… we’ll figure it out. You getting better is the most important thing, we can deal with the rest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This sucks.” Sam groaned, shifting his hand from his hair to his face and leaning his forehead into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe don’t jump in front of a bullet next time.” Dean remarked, with a keynote bitchiness that was supposed to belong to Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I didn’t, then it would be dad in this bed. Is that really better?” Sam questioned rhetorically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean sighed, “Is there a third option?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there ever?” Sam returned just as quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean just parted his legs and leaned back, looking at Sam with an impatient glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, all I’m saying is that out of all the things that could’ve happened, this is probably one of the best case scenarios. I’ll be fine and both of you guys are too. It’s handled.” Sam shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Handled?” Dean raised his eyebrows and Sam prepared for the worst. When Dean opened his mouth again, his words came out like barks, “Sam, I thought I was gonna lose my little brother. Dad thought he was going to lose his son! Nothing is okay about this, you hear me? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean, I-” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock knock knock.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Both brothers jumped and whipped their heads around to the door. Sam let out a muffled groan as it jostled his chest. Why the hell did his chest hurt when the wound was in his abdomen? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an older-looking woman standing in the door dressed in coral colored scrubs and the whitest pair of shoes Sam’s ever seen. White, white, white. Everything’s white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sort of looked like Gwen Stefani if she was twenty years older. Big brown eyes and bleach blonde hair, skin pale and moderately wrinkled at the corners of her lips and eyes. She had a friendly smile that oddly enough for a nurse, didn’t appear practiced or worn down. It was natural and the pale shade on her lips flattered it nicely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi boys,” She greeted as she entered, tucking the clipboard she was holding under her armpit so she could close the door before shifting it back into her grasp. She walked over to the window briefly and breathed in, “What a beautiful Saturday, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean sent Sam a raised brow and Sam smirked back.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re Alex Huntington,” She asked politely when she turned back around to face Sam, smiling once again. Sam looked to Dean with a hidden smirk before nodding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Rachel, I’m the nurse covering this wing of the ICU for the day. We have your vitals down at the nurses station, and I noticed you woke up, so I’m just going to check on some things, okay? Nothing big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sam nodded, swallowing down and looking over to Dean, who was looking at the nurse and not at him, “Yeah, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” She nodded and walked over to the sink, turning on the water and washing her hands before slipping a pair of fresh gloves on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who’s this, Alex?” She asked, looking over to Dean for a moment as she jostled with the stethoscope around her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Sam swallowed before coming up with, “Patrick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean tried desperately to hide his smile, biting the inside of his cheek as the nurse watched him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, hello, Patrick.” She smiled, completely ignorant, “You’re his brother, I’m assuming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Older brother.” Dean confirmed with an affirmative nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” She acknowledged, “Alex, do you mind unbuttoning those top couple buttons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded and reached up, grimacing once again as the movement of his arm triggered a shock of pain in his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, that hurts.” He half-laughed, pulling the blanket down to his waist and unbuttoning the top four buttons of the hospital gown, peeling the fabric away to give the nurse access to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit.” Dean’s eyes blew open wide when Sam revealed his chest and Sam quickly jerked his head down to see whatever he was talking about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yeah… Holy shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The left half of his chest, right above where his ribs were was so bruised it was almost black. It was dark blue and purple in the middle and it’s edges were a murky yellow, verging on green. No fucking wonder he was in pain… Jesus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Sam jerked his head up to the nurse, eyes filled with panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile barely faltered, as she was clearly well practiced in the art of hiding reactions. She pulled a pair of glasses out of her pocket, slipped them onto the bridge of her nose and brought the clipboard up to her face, disregarding the stethoscope for the moment. She hummed appreciatively after a moment and turned back to the brothers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It says here the surgeon had to break two of your ribs to access your kidney during surgery. The bruising is an aftereffect of all the trauma your body went through in the operating room. Your ribs will heal, but it will take time. The bruising should start to fade in a few days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean furrowed his brows, “The doctor broke his ribs? What the hell? Aren’t they supposed to make him feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was either break the ribs, or lose the kidney. No third option, I’m afraid.” She shrugged, picking the stethoscope back up and pressing it to Sam’s chest strategically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’re familiar with that.” Dean sighed, thinking back on the conversation they were having not five minutes ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too many of us are.” She smiled again, but this time there was a pain behind it that would be unidentifiable to anyone but a Winchester. Sometimes it was nice to be reminded that they weren’t the only ones in the world that had to go through pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your heart’s strong, and I don’t have any reason to suspect there’s fluid in your lungs. I’m just gonna take your blood pressure and then I’ll leave you to be, alrighty?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alrighty.” Dean echoed, having way too much fun mimicking her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tilted her head knowingly before instructing Sam, “You can button your shirt back up, sweetie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam did as instructed as Rachel walked around the bed and grabbed a blood pressure cuff. When Sam finished, she made a come hither motion with her hand and he gave her his arm. She wrapped the cuff around his bicep and squeezed several times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks good.” She winked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded appreciatively, “Thank you, Rachel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re very welcome, Alex.” She nodded before walking out the door, almost getting trampled when a giant body crashed into her in the doorframe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry ma'am!” A loud, booming voice exclaimed, and both of the brother’s backs straightened out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s okay, sir. I’m just glad you didn’t spill your coffees!” Rachel acknowledged, ever pleasant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam felt chills rifle through him, the hairs on his arms sticking straight up. He knew that voice…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad?” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Winchester’s make a break from the hospital</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean asked before Sam could as they watched John walk into the room and close the door with his foot. He was carrying a tray with three coffees on it, and that was probably the most surprising thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys.” He greeted, eyeing Sam longer than Dean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strolled towards them and first handed a coffee to Sam, whose eyebrows skyrocketed in shock, and then to Dean, who had a similar jarred reaction. What surprised him even more was that John didn’t seem to have any reaction to Sam being awake. Wasn’t he knocked out the last time he saw him? But here he was, strolling in with a coffee for him as if he knew for a fact he would be awake when he walked in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You brought us coffee?” Sam tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in skepticism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a long night, I figured we could all use it.” John explained (barely) as he sat down in a chair next to Dean and threw away the tray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam was about to question him much more when his eyes caught a glimpse of something. As Dean reached up for the coffee, he saw something white on his forearm. Sam straightened up in the bed to see what it was, and felt his heart throb in guilt when he recognized the gauzes wrapped around his wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I do that?” He asked quietly, even though he already knew the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do what?” Dean furrowed his brows in confusion before following Sam’s gaze to his arm and sighing, “Oh, that. That’s okay Sammy, it’s no big deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory of gripping Dean’s forearm and sinking his fingernails into his skin came rushing back, and Sam felt sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not okay, I hurt you.” He rebutted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were getting a bullet that was inches deep dislodged from your gut. Nevermind losing all the blood you freaking had in your body.” Dean fought back, “I think I can deal with some fingernails.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yeah, okay… good point. Still though, he didn't like the idea of hurting his brother under any circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still though, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t stay here.” John announced suddenly, cutting him off completely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam sighed a little too loudly and dropped his head back against the pillow, slipping his eyes closed and preparing for the argument that was about to occur. He was so, so, so not in the mood and way, way, way too tired to participate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we can’t leave.” Dean spoke with an argumentative tone that Sam anticipated, “He’s not better yet, they’re still monitoring for infection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we stay too long, they’ll start asking questions. Why and where the hell he got </span>
  <em>
    <span>shot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for one.” John addressed Dean with an octave to his voice that screamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m right, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Look, I wouldn’t do anything that would put Sam in danger. I want him to heal. But I also don’t want to be put in jail for carrying unregistered weapons or any other host of things, they have their pick. I’ve already talked to Bobby. We can stay at his place for a few days. We’ll monitor him for infection there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean remained insistent, “Okay, say I think we should leave. The kid’s still dehydrated, high as hell on painkillers, his guts are basically falling out, and his ribs are decimated. You expect him to be able to get out of here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t be alone. I’ll distract the nurses and you get him out.” John stayed just as stubborn, ignoring the great majority of what Dean said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right, Dean.” Sam sighed, “We can’t afford questions. I feel fine, we should move.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam, you’re lying.” Dean countered, no nonsense to his tone, “You look like hot crap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not lying.” Sam pushed, even as the fire in his abdomen and along his ribs screamed otherwise, “It’s only going to get worse as the drugs wear off. We should go while we have a window.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s enough for me.” John announced as he rose from his chair, “Let’s move.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a stupid plan!” Dean announced, even as he stood up, placed his coffee down and walked over to Sam’s bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam sat up straight, acknowledging Dean with a nod, “Yeah, probably. But it’s the only one we got.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean sent him another warning glare and crossed his arms. Sam ignored him and reached up to pull the nose cannula out of his nose. Right before he did it, however, Dean grabbed his wrist to halt his motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if it’s important?” He asked worriedly, probably just trying to find an excuse to keep Sam in the hospital longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean.” Sam said impatiently, making direct eye contact with his brother as he shook his wrist out of his grip and removed the tube, smiling overly wide when it came off without him dying, or whatever the hell Dean thought was gonna happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son, stop moping around and help your brother out of the bed.” John argued as he stood up, having enough of the tiptoeing around and complaining, “That’s an order.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep his reaction in check as he sighed loudly and nodded assertively. He kept a look on his face that displayed his discontent, but like an obedient son and a damn good brother, he helped Sam sit up right and aided him in throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Sam rocked forward slightly, body ready to completely fall forward and leave him face planting to the tiles, but Dean caught him by the shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steady there, Sammy.” He muttered as Sam blinked himself back to focus. He nodded through the dizziness, shifting forward on the gurney.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got some clothes for you.” John announced, approaching his son with a bag filled with fabric, “Trying to make an escape in a hospital gown isn’t exactly inconspicuous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Sam mumbled, wincing as he reached for the bag and it pulled painfully at his gut. He groaned and dropped his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re pulling your stitches.” Dean filled in, grabbing the bag from their dad, “I’ll help. Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam hopped down from the bed, Dean awkwardly catching him before he could collapse to the floor. All the energy exertion, pain, and drugs pumping through his veins were making every movement a marathon. Dean helped him get to the bathroom, gently guiding Sam into the small en suite and closing the door behind him, leaving it the slightest bit ajar. Just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took what felt like forever for Sam to get dressed, but eventually he was tripping out the door, hair a mess and only half of his flannel’s buttons done up, but hey… good enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” John assertively pointed at Dean, “I’m going to distract the nurse. Get the hell out.” He shifted his finger to point at Sam but kept his gaze on Dean, “Keep him safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes sir.” Dean nodded, swallowing nervously as John turned and jogged out the door. Once he left, Dean whispered just to himself, “Always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After John was completely out the door, Dean stood there and counted out ten seconds in his head before going over to Sam, throwing his arm over his shoulders and moving to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, just don’t pass out on me, okay?” He pleaded as he poked his head out the door, saw it was clear, and started heading down the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try my best.” Sam scoffed, moving his feet albeit drunkenly, his head lolling and stitches pulling with every step. He felt fine in the hospital bed, good even. But now that he was moving… Sam was losing energy fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two women sent them skeptical looks as they exchanged places in the elevator, the ladies leaving and Sam and Dean entering. They sent narrowed eyebrows and frowns over their shoulders. Dean just waved with a flirty smile and their frowns flipped into smiles as they giggled before turning away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ridiculous.” Sam whispered, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean hit the garage button on the elevator and readjusted Sam's arm on his back, grunting, “Yeah, you’re welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, no. Once the elevator started moving down, Sam felt acid rise in his throat as waves of nausea rolled through him. His body wasn’t ready for all of this yet. All the drugs were so not mixing with the energy exertion. He leaned forward subconsciously and Dean pulled him back up just as quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, man.” Dean encouraged, “Only a little farther. Don’t give out on me now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded, though his ears were clouding with styrofoam. It was a fairly quick ride down, so that was good at least. But then the door opened and another long hallway awaited them. Sam sighed and choked down a cry of dread. Dean puffed his chest in determination, though Sam could sense his parallel worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That hallway felt infinitely longer than the elevator ride. Maybe because his energy was diminishing with every step. He felt awful for Dean, who was carrying almost all of his weight at this point and not complaining at all. His huffed breaths and groans were right in Sam’s ear, but he couldn’t find it in him to say anything. Dean would just brush it off anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a blessing from heaven above that they were able to reach the car without collapsing to the ground. Dean flicked his eyes up briefly and silently sent a thank you to whoever the hell was listening. Sam was skinny, but the kid was muscular and tall as hell. All of that made him one heavy son of a bitch and Dean was losing steam fast with all of that weight on his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally reached the impala, Dean carefully perched Sam against the trunk and jostled with the keys. Once it was unlocked, he opened the backseat door on the passengers side and walked back over to Sam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, we gotta get you in the car, kiddo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam dropped his head down in a sort of half nod, eyes closing briefly. He looked like dread personified. Dean was about to tease him for moping when suddenly his legs gave out. Dean raced over to keep him from falling and slapped a hand gently across his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” He called, grabbing Sam’s chin and angling it up, “Hey, you got this far. You’re not stopping here. Not this close. I’ve gotcha. I’m not gonna let you fall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam squinted his eyes closed tightly before reopening them and giving Dean a more affirmative nod. He threw an arm over Dean’s shoulder and together they maneuvered until Sam was sitting in the car seat, slouched, but nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad.” Sam whispered suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean just brushed him off, “He’s on his way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sam objected, peering over Dean’s shoulder and repeating with a more insistent tone, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dad.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, Dean thought as he turned around and saw dad running towards them from the hospital entrance. He had a wild, yet relieved look in his eyes as he approached his sons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone okay?” He asked, rhetorically, as he jogged up beside Dean and placed a hand on his shoulder, looking down at Sam as if inspecting him for further injury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Good.” He answered his own question too quickly for Dean to respond, and then his tone was shifting from curious to warning. He patted Dean’s shoulder once to get his attention, “We gotta go. It’s a matter of seconds, maybe minutes, before they realize Sam’s gone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sec’nds.” Sam mumbled, eyeing John and Dean in shifts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s that, Sammy?” John asked, leaning closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam shifted in his seat and swallowed, gathering the energy to speak, “Not minutes. Seconds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean narrowed his brows, “How do you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nurse…” He cleared his throat, “Uh… Rachel. She said they could see my vitals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean’s eyes widened in understanding, “And now they’re gonna show up blank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John jerked his head around to look at Dean as his voice increased in volume, “They probably already know he’s gone. You’re right dad, we gotta move!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go.” John encouraged and then Dean leaned in towards Sam to wrap the belt around him as John started off towards the driver’s side door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Sam whined as Dean reached for the seatbelt, pulling away from his brother. That was going to hurt. The belt had not one, but two straps that would press directly on his wound and bruises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta wear a belt, Sammy. You’ll pull the stitches if you don’t.” Dean winced as he dragged the seatbelt across his brother’s waist, making him gasp in pain. He pushed it into the connection on the other side and when Sam moaned, he flinched again, apologizing, “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know.” Sam hissed unconvincingly as he clenched his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean scrunched his eyebrows in sympathy, tilting his head as he reached for the door handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna be okay back here?” He asked Sam quietly, holding a lot of doubt that that was the case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam nodded and rushed out in harsh pants, “Yeah. Yeah. Perfect, good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean nodded hesitantly and closed the door, walking forward and gripping the passengers door handle. But just as quickly as he opened the door, John was slamming it closed. Dean jerked around to catch his father’s eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, Dean,” John pushed his son away from the passenger’s side door, “You’re in the back with Sam. Kid’s gone a hell of a long way on almost nothing. He’s due to pass out any second. Keep an eye on him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t hesitate a second, just nodded with a whispered, “Yes sir.” and ran to the other side of the car to hop in the opposite side of Sam. His brother was noticeably favoring one side, leaning heavily away from the door. His neck was already turning red where he was leaning on the seat belt to keep himself from falling over, the leather digging into his skin. There was a resting grimace on his face, distinct lines drawn between his eyebrows and a tight frown on his lips. God, Dean didn’t think he could get any paler… He swallowed down his worry and scooted over as close as he could to his brother, pressing his arm against Sam’s to force him upright and keep him that way. Dude was gonna strain his neck or bang his head if he stayed slumped over like he was before. Sam hissed at the forced position change, but Dean just maneuvered his arm so Sam could lean on his shoulder instead of the seat belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, just lean on me, dude.” Dean instructed Sam, whose eyes were growing heavier with every passing second, “I’ve got you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam didn’t move any closer to Dean, even with the invitation. Instead, he groaned and managed a half-laugh, “I’ll never take not being shot for granted ever again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of the impala’s engine coming to life filled the car as Dean huffed, “I’ll never take you not being shot for granted ever again, either, Sammy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam lolled his head towards Dean drunkenly and corrected, “Sam.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Dean rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That got a little smirk from his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys alright, back there?” John asked suddenly, foot still on the brake waiting to release. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looked over to Sam and swallowed, “We’re good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the car was moving, pulling out backwards before turning abruptly and riding towards the exit of the parking lot. Sam suddenly felt a wave of nausea roll through him as the car bounced slightly on the pavement. The movement wasn’t something he had prepared for, and it was making everything hurt worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh God, I’m gonna puke.” Sam groaned as he felt the acid rise in his throat. He hunched over in the seat as he moaned, the seatbelt keeping him from hitting the seat in front of him face first. He brought both of his arms forward to hug his stomach and winced when it put pressure on his wounds. There was sweat breaking out across his forehead and every little movement of the car made everything worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean tossed his arm heavily onto his back and tried to pull him up, but Sam wouldn’t budge. Dean’s eyes went wide and he yelled, “Dad, pull over!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearly his tone had enough fire to it to spark action, because without any hesitation, John was pulling over to the side of the road and whipping his head around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean reached over Sam’s back to grab his door and push it open with every ounce of strength he had. He then reached for Sam’s seatbelt and yanked it off, releasing Sam just in time for his brother to jerk around and puke out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, big guy, okay.” Dean cooed as Sam heaved and cried at the same time, every convulsion of his stomach sending lightning bolts across his abdomen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he choked up nothing but bile. Pure acid filled his mouth and made him gag as his body lost all of its energy. Dean sat there and rubbed his back, trying to soothe him the best he could, all the while exchanging worried glances back and forth with John. Eventually, Sam stopped heaving and sat back up, this time willingly dropping his head onto Dean’s shoulder and closing his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed slowly and whispered, “Sorry. ‘M sorry. We can go. You can drive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?” John asked, making eye contact with him through the mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam just nodded, hair rubbing against Dean’s sleeve. John took it as enough of a yes and waited for Dean to close the car door before putting his turn signal on and starting to drive again. Just as he was about to make it back onto the road, Dean spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, dad, just,” He looked down at Sam with worried eyes, “Slow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John nodded and then they were on the road again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every little bump, turn, or stop prompted a grunt from Sam, and Dean had to find an inner zen to not scream at John everytime the car did something that made his brother hurt. Even more worrisome, however, was about three quarters through the drive when Sam stopped making any noises whatsoever. Dean noticed when John had to stop short at a stop sign and Sam’s head bobbed on his shoulder, but no sound of protest escaped his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy?” He asked, twisting his head around to see Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam didn’t reply or show any sign that he was even listening. His forehead was resting on Dean’s shoulder, hair blocking his eyes completely and neck straining from the position. It couldn’t be comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam?” Dean asked louder, shrugging his shoulder up a little to see if it would prompt anything. But, Sam’s head just dropped right back down. No sign of life. Dean felt his heart rate triple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on back there?” John asked, but Dean fully ignored him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy, you with me?!” He yelled as he grabbed Sam by the chin and forced his head up, feeling his stomach drop at the sight of his ghostly pale face and bright red cheeks. His lips were purple. God, the kid looked awful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean!” John shouted, “What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a second!” Dean yelled back and closed his eyes for a second, dread filling him as he reached up slowly with a shaky hand and placed it on the right side of Sam’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, please, please.” He whispered over and over to himself like a mantra as he waited to see if there was a pulse under his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to wait a few seconds- a few horrible, earth-shatteringly devastating seconds- but there was an unmistakable throb under the pad of his finger. He breathed out a relieved sigh and hung his head low, rejoicing in the beat. It was slow, and semi-inconsistent, but it was there. He was alive. Sammy was alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He passed out,” Dean announced once he felt like he had control of his voice, “He’s unconscious, but he’s alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” John spoke, no heat to his tone, but rather a mixture of worry and relief, “That’s good. We’re almost there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad…” Dean bit his lip nervously, “He doesn’t look good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John cleared his throat and switched lanes, “How does he look? You have to explain it to me, I can’t look back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean shifted his hand to Sam’s cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over his jaw and taking in the hotness of his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s pale. Really pale. Paler than before.” Dean started, tripping over his words as he shifted Sam’s head in his hands to inspect him, “His cheeks are flushed and his lips are purple. He feels really hot, like he has a fever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” John punched the steering wheel, making Dean jump in his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” He asked, eyes blowing up wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open up his shirt, check the bullet wound!” John instructed, avoiding the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean didn’t even blink, he just did what he was told. He lowered Sam’s head back against the seat and undid his buttons, opening up his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s covered in gauze, dad, I can’t see anything!” Dean informed his father, stomach still doing flips at the sight of the black bruise spanning Sam’s ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remove them! This is important!” John pressed and Dean took a deep breath before complying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was happy Sam was asleep for this part. Removing medical grade gauze was no fun. That shit pulled a layer of skin off with how sticky the adhesive was. It took some time to pull the tape and gauze away from the wound, and Dean left the wrap job in place so he could put it back after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. What am I looking for?” Dean asked once he had eyes on the wound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you see any puss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean might’ve thrown up in his mouth a little, but “No, no white stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about black, or green? Dean, anything that looks off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean poured over it again, grimacing. It was definitely a bitch of a wound. It was in a horrible spot and it had nasty bruising and blood stains around it. The stitches weren’t pretty and there was some puckered skin that would most certainly scar, but… nothing off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing I wouldn’t expect to see.” Dean supplied, “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The way you described him… seemed like symptoms of an infection. But, there are no signs near the wound. Not yet, at least. That’s good. Hopefully it’s just the drugs or the moving around. Cover it back up.” John ordered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean did as instructed, being as careful as possible around his brother’s injuries as he placed the gauze back on his abs and buttoned up his shirt once again. He looked up and saw that Sam’s head was hanging low, chin resting against his neck and hair hanging in front of his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Sam.” Dean muttered to himself quietly, leaning back and guiding his brother’s head back onto his shoulder, this time wrapping an arm around the kid, “What the hell are we gonna do with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the ride went fairly smoothly. Dean still jerked his head around and waited to hear Sam whine every time they hit a bump, and felt the heavy weight of realization collapse over him when his brother remained silent. He held the kid close, trying to keep him from moving around too much. He couldn’t afford any more injuries. Part of it was probably selfish, too. Dean just wanted to hold Sam, to prove to himself that he was real and okay. He would never admit it though. Not out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby was already waiting on the front porch when they pulled up to his house. He was standing on the second step from the door, arms crossed over his chest and a nervous frown on his lips. As soon as the impala got within walking distance, Bobby started moving forward to meet them halfway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John pulled up as close as he could to the front door before stopping the car and yanking the key out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, we’re here. Come on.” John spoke to Dean as he opened his door and got out of the car. As if there was anything in his words that Dean didn’t already know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby and John both approached Sam’s door. Dean stayed still, knowing damn well that if he moved, Sam wouldn’t have anything to lean on and the kid would collapse faster than a tower of playing cards. He just waited for John to open the door, and felt his heart stutter when he heard Bobby’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord almighty, you thought it was a good idea to remove him from the hospital?” Bobby glared at John like he had ten heads, disagreement and a hint of judgement in his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re no good to him in prison.” John argued back immediately, as if he was expecting those exact words to come from Bobby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby just took a loud, exasperated breath and tilted his head, “Well, alright. Let’s get him inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful!” Dean yelled out of pure instinct as Bobby reached for the seatbelt, making the old man jump with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not gonna hurt him, Dean.” John announced, though his eyebrows were drawn up in a way that suggested he was scared of just that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m sorry, just… just let me get the belt first.” Dean sighed, quietly as he reached for the seatbelt himself. Dean was extremely mindful of Sam’s sore spots as he disconnected the leather strap, slowly bringing it over his body and letting it release backwards once it was completely off of Sam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to apologize, Dean.” Bobby countered as he watched the older Winchester care for his brother, “I get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got left?” John asked Bobby, a keynote impatience to his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bobby nodded, “Yup. Let’s do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, dad.” Dean protested, still not liking the idea of Sam’s body being jostled around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful, I know.” John finished his thoughts before dismissing, “He’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he was reaching into the car and grabbing Sam’s right arm, throwing it over one shoulder and maneuvering his son carefully so Bobby could get his opposite arm around his shoulders. The two men managed to get Sam out of the car relatively smoothly, Dean following out through the door right behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>——xxxxxxxxxxxx——</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The next time Sam woke up it was to the potent stench of leather, whiskey, and cigarettes. It sure beat hospital smell, however, so he wasn’t complaining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sammy?” He heard, soft but clear as day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath in and slipped his eyes open, blinking a few times to focus his visual field. Sam felt a wave of calm sweep over him when he finally concentrated his gaze on Dean’s face. His brother was sitting on a chair right next to the bed he was lying on, worry lines etched into his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, buddy.” Dean smiled down at Sam, though it didn’t reach his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What…” Sam cleared his throat when his voice came out gravelly before restarting, “What happened?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You passed out in the car. Not before puking. I should thank you for holding out long enough to not douse my baby in your stomach acid, by the way.” Dean raised an amused brow, “That smell never woulda gone away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam winced as he moved his head a bit to the side, brushing off, “Don’t mention it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your head hurt?” Dean asked, eyebrows drawn tight together in concern, and when had he leaned in closer?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Sam paused, cataloging his pain before letting out in a quaking breath, “Everything kinda hurts. Body aches.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like his body was trying to prove his point, Sam felt a jolt by the bullet wound in his gut and he hissed at the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got messed up pretty good, Sam. Lotta healing ahead. But Bobby’s got the best stuff in town.” Dean encouraged, dropping a hand onto Sam’s bicep and giving it a firm squeeze, “You’ll be good in no time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhm.” Sam hummed in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He actually believed it this time. That he’d be okay. That they’d be okay. Bullet wounds were no different than any other injury. They took time to heal, and damn they could scar, but… they would heal. Steady and surely, they would heal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam fell back asleep to that thought and Dean repeating quietly, “Good in no time.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading &lt;33333</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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